Just Legs
by grandvizier527
Summary: Wilden Lightfoot hopes there's a little magic left in his sons. A re-telling of the Lightfoot brothers' quest, from the perspective of their father. Obviously, contains spoilers.


The first thing you can feel in a long time is solid ground. The tactile sensations crawl up your legs, eventually reaching your midsection. After an immeasurable period of feeling nothing, you ache for more of this sensation, to be able to see and hear and speak again. You don't have a brain anymore, but you're excited when your memories start to trickle back to you like drops of water slowly dripping from a faucet one at a time. You remember who you are, and what you think might be going on right now.

But something isn't right. The perception doesn't keep going upward. Without your eyes and ears, you know something is wrong, but aren't sure what. You try to remember why you're feeling what you are right now, and you feel like if you had your actual brain you'd know. The sensations start going back down a little, stopping again at your hips. You're knocked backwards by a blast of something, just as you realize what's happened to you. Fear grips you; you don't want to go back into the abyss of loss. It's not the feelings being robbed from you that scares you, it's the idea that you could plunge back into nothing and everything you were is lost to the world you once lived in, this world with its solid matter and sensations. There was something you wanted to preserve and pass on. There was something—no, some_one_-that you wanted to see. Someone you loved.

But the nothingness doesn't return. The feelings persist. You get up and find yourself standing on your feet, and you can feel the socks you always wore. That was something from your past. The fog on your mind is nearly broken, but it just needs one final push. You walk forward to see if you can figure something out, confused at the idea of just being a pair of legs.

A hand drifts near you, touching your foot. You back away in fright, not sure who this person is or what they want with you. Are they good, or dangerous? You nearly slip over something on the ground.

Rhythm. The drums. They play on your feet, on hands too big and angled on your shoes wrong to be yours. The hands may be alien, but the rhythm isn't. You feel so ashamed at the idea of having ever forgotten that rhythm, and those hands on your feet.

It's your son. You tap back and let him know you're there. Barley. If you could cry, you would be crying right now. You want more, so much more than just this, but you'll take what you can get of your old life right now, before the cancer and the machines and the drugs that did nothing but leave you in constant pain and sorrow. You do your best to forget all of that right now. Instead you remember what you loved: your family and the magic that has brought you back here. Barley must have cast the visitation spell—but he must have made a mistake. You wish you could tell him and correct him, to be the father he needed and that was stolen from him by the cancer. But how can you do that without your mouth, without your senses?

You walk forward and touch another foot besides the one that you presume to be Barley's. It's smaller and thinner than your son's, and it quivers and shakes so hard that you can feel the vibrations resonate through your own body.

You probe the ground and feel the smaller foot touch yours again, this time realizing that the trembling wasn't from a charging spell. It's fear, it's nervousness, the same trepidation and anxiety you used to have, the same one you felt just now, outlined in the form you had when you were younger. The emotion is familiar enough to you now that you know who this is, and it makes you want to weep even more than you did before.

It's your other son. The one whose face you never got to see. The one who was just a kicking baby in the womb of your wife right up the moment you died. You can remember your last vision now: gazing at her pregnant belly and hoping that the boy—you remember her telling you it was a boy, that she wanted you to name him—hoping from your heart's fire that he would have some magic in him. You gave him a name common in the days of Yore: Iandore. Laurel had insisted that no one names their son Iandore anymore, so she said she'd shorten it to Ian. You didn't argue the matter with her, although you had hoped that he would bear the full name with pride.

A soft vibration hits your foot. It's Ian's voice, that's something you can determine with near certainty. You get the feeling that he goes by Ian—Iandore Lightfoot would not greet you with trembles and fears. You don't think that out of contempt or disgust, but pity and sympathy. You are Wilden Lightfoot, but you were once just Wil. It's like you're seeing yourself all over again, even though you're really not seeing anything at all.

More vibrations hit you, but sensations can't become sounds and words. Blind, deaf and mute, you can only rely on the way the touch hits your legs. Your sons are talking to each other now. You focus and try to understand them, but it feels fruitless. You decide to test your walking while they determine what to do. You already know what they need to do: get another Phoenix Gem to bring back the rest of you. But you can't tell them to do that right now; you can only hope they figure it out on their own.

Your groin takes a hit as you bump into something hard and solid, but you're caught by one of the boys. It's Ian, you realize, as hands much like your own were as a young man grips you. You wish you could feel his touch more, even if it meant taking off your socks and shoes and wrapping your legs around him. Gross, but at least then you could feel him and hug him, and let him know you love him. You hope he knows that. No—you _know _he knows that. Perhaps imperfectly for now, but as any wizard knows, magic works on faith, the solution to the formula of assurance plus hope. Magic is just as much of a meticulous science as all of the other "hard sciences" you were pressured into studying at college by self-absorbed professors who thought they knew more than people who lived in the past. You tell yourself not to hold grudges, though: there _is _some magic left. Everything that gets lost always gets found again. Otherwise, you wouldn't be being taken somewhere right now. Because you can't speak or see or even hear where you're going, there is little to do besides think and examine what you can with your feet.

You wish you could do more, but you have to have faith that your sons will know what to do.

**. . . . . . . .**

You're not sure how much time has passed, but you guess that it's been a few hours. Your foot has been beside Ian's. You know that you've been comforting him because he hasn't trembled in a while. Being so close and so far from the son that needs you more hurts, but you know that sooner or later things will change. Either they'll find another Phoenix Gem and bring back the rest of you, or you'll vanish for good. You've accepted that you only have so much time, but you hope that whatever needs to be done can get done. It's strange, knowing that something important needs to happen, but not knowing what, and being mostly powerless to make it happen. The important thing isn't just finding the Phoenix Gem and letting you see them again. One of them made a mistake, and now they both have to do whatever is needed to see you.

It all depends on your sons now. You have faith in them, not because of who they are—you hardly know who they are at all—but because they made the effort to bring you back when they were old enough, just like you wanted them to. The only thing you trusted to them, they accomplished, however imperfectly, and that was enough. You love them for trying and your love for them will not change whether they succeed or fail. But you hope they succeed. Given that you can't see or hear or speak, you are mostly alone with your thoughts and tactile perceptions. In both senses of the word, you feel nothing but love for your boys.

Patience was something that you had to teach yourself. Growth sometimes came in quick spurts, other times very slowly. In the days of old, elves in particular lived a very long time—some were supposedly even immortal, assuming they were not killed in battle or an accident, but those myths could never be substantiated. Sacrifice was also frequent in the old texts, those that you remember poring over in your college's library so often. Sometimes you had to give up on what you wanted to receive something even greater.

As you're thinking to yourself, trapped in your own thoughts, you can feel Ian's footsteps as he shuffles around the carpeted space you're both in. You also feel the vibrations of his voice as he talks to you. You don't know what he's saying, but it's comforting for you. The same goes for this space you're in: it's not familiar to you, but it has a calm atmosphere to it. It feels like a single isolated room in a grand castle that protects you. There's also a feeling of movement if you try and move to follow Ian in the space, like you're either being dragged forward or back without actually moving. You decide that you must be in a car, and since you haven't felt Barley's presence aside from some vibrations you determine to be voices—deeper than Ian's, and with a more solid feel than his and a resolute tone, like your own was once—that it has to be Barley's.

If only your sons had a centaur friend. You wish you could tell Barley how centaurs used to be able to run around seventy miles per hour, and sometimes even faster than that if they trained their legs long enough, and how if they knew any centaurs willing to go on this quest with them they could get to where they needed to go without having to stop for gas. Every race was different back then, in fact: trolls were unbelievably strong, cyclopses could fire lasers from their eyes, fauns could leap across chasms, merpeople could swim to the deepest depths and bludgeon others with their tails, and even gnomes were more industrious and creative, inventing many of the old spells. Elves were claimed to have the most affinity with magic, but you recognized those texts as later forgeries touted as fact by racist propagandists during the later years of magic's decline. Of course, in the modern era people believed in equality, and you did, too. You could never find any texts that clarified what elves were best at, but you had liked to believe that it was the way a confident elf could inspire others with his or her voice and words. Not all elves were meant to be leaders, but those that were seemed to be good ones. You had been told by other people that you were one of those sorts of people. Feeling Ian stack objects on top of your hips that you could only surmise was a makeshift upper body, you can't be sure if Ian is meant to be a courageous leader or a dutiful follower. You hope you'll get to find out what kind of man he has grown up to be.

Ian then touches his hand to your foot as he starts talking to you, hoping that you will respond. You didn't realize such a simple gesture could fill you with love and joy. You place your other foot on his hand, tracing his outline with your shoe. You still can't believe how much he probably looks like you. You wish you could see his face with your eyes and hug him with your arms. He needs it and it hurts that you can't deliver it.

You are presented before Barley, and you can feel the happiness and good nature in the air. You hope that this lasts long after you're gone.

You're suddenly hit by a brief rush of cool air. It's a bit strange, but also exhilarating. Perhaps your sons feel the same way. Whether they like it or not, they're on a quest now!

**. . . . . . . .**

You've felt Ian's and Barley's voices go back and forth without knowing what they're actually saying for some time now. Ian's voice starts to get repetitive, as if he's saying the same thing over and over again. You would beam with pride if you had your face, because you can tell that Ian is trying to cast a spell! It's likely the basic levitation spell, but judging by the repetition it's not working. Barley's voice resounds in intervals with the hum and movement of the vehicle. You think back to how you remember Laurel having an endless source of patience, even when you seemed to push her buttons. You also remember Barley looking more like her than you. Barley must be the patient one, then, you decide. You hope he can teach Ian the spell, but you wonder why he can't do it himself for a moment before coming to a likely conclusion. If Barley takes after your mother, he can't use magic. It's so frustrating—if only you could fully be there and tell Ian everything he needed to know! And yet, there is something reassuring in Barley's voice. The sound waves from your older son are comforting, even to you. Ian will figure it out. You just know it.

**. . . . . . . .**

You are led along by a dragon's leash out of the vehicle and eventually stop. Barley taps on your makeshift top half, saying something to you. You don't like that you can't hear what he's saying. But you're so happy that your son is just as physically affectionate as he was when he was little. You want to hold and hug them both, even though you don't know how Ian would react. After this brief stop, you are led forward some more.

The change of temperature and the numerous vibrations indicate that this is a crowded, public area. You can feel the clothes on top of you, ensuring that you have some semblance of a top half in public. You are so proud of Ian for making a disguise for you, even though it was probably a simple matter. Judging by the vibrations from when you stop again they are talking to someone. The only way they'd know to find a Phoenix Gem would be to seek out the map for a quest leading to one. You try to remember the specifics of the quest for the Phoenix Gem and remember that the quest-giver is supposed to be a manticore. The most irritating thing about this is the fact that you know that they're talking, but don't know what they're saying. All you can do is judge the tones of their voices.

Barley speaks with noble tone, and you can already assess his attitude about this quest. Going on this quest was likely his idea. Ian says nothing, but the manticore's voice is meek and passive. It's not a natural passivity—it feels like someone who has settled for less. You recall a tavern owned by a manticore in your old life, but you had checked the place out once and it certainly had changed since the Yore era. You hadn't got to meet the manticore, but you were told by staff that she had been around in the days when quests were still undertaken, even though magic's use had already declined. Has it been long enough now that she's given up? You don't know how well the conversation is going, but you wish you could do something to convince this manticore of the importance of this mission that doesn't involve revealing that you don't have a torso, possibly shocking and scaring the other people in the area. Eventually your top half is briefly taken off, but nothing seems to change. The manticore starts to get snappy, but the true aggression her species used to have is still absent. You're amazed at how much you can learn from just the vibrations of people's voices.

A third voice resounds in the conversation—passionate and angry. Not the malicious kind of anger—the anger and frustration that comes when the hopes for doing something good are dashed. It's Ian's voice, you're certain of that, but it's taken a tone you didn't expect. You try to sense for magic, but neither he nor Barley haven't used any. This isn't a spell; this is determination.

The manticore responds, possibly out of anger, or from her own determination that Ian has rekindled in her heart's fire, the thing that everyone has inside of them but doesn't necessarily lend to being able to use magic. Then you feel intense heat. You remember learning that manticores could breathe fire, one of the few races besides dragons capable of doing so, but you had never even met a manticore in person due to how rare they were back in your old life. The fire feels much different than that of a pet dragon's—primal, focused, and more volatile.

You are quickly led out of the tavern, feeling vibrations that feel like voices resound all around you. What did Ian say to the manticore? In any case, as you're pulled forward, your top half is grabbed, but your legs stumble backwards. You don't like how clumsy you are, but it's hard not to be when you don't know where you're going. You can feel flames behind you, but you try not to panic. Surely your boys have noticed.

Magical energy is fired just above your head. You don't know why, but you know that it's the levitation spell, and the determined shout you feel over the roar of the flames sounds like Ian. It all happens so fast you don't even have time to react before you're led elsewhere, presumably out of the tavern and back to the vehicle to make a hasty retreat. Your son has learned his first spell! You know what did it, too: he was terrified you would die from whatever it was that he levitated, and so his heart's fire received a boost of adrenaline to save you.

Heart's fire was, according to the scholars of the Yore Era, like a muscle in that it had to be honed and strengthened through repeated use. For some aspiring wizards, this came easy, based on the faith they had within themselves; for others, it was difficult, because they lacked confidence to cast whatever spell was required of them. That was why, to aid in spellcasting, wizards had devised psychological techniques to orient the mind towards the desired spell. Switching between spells like that became more difficult at first, but with time and effort, a master wizard could easily cast different spells in rapid succession.

**. . . . . . . . . . .**

More vibrations from Ian and Barley occur, and the rhythms of their voices contrast sharply. They're having a conversation, and at some point third voice is introduced, but it seems to be coming from Ian and doesn't sound like the manticore from before. Who is he impersonating? Ian's voice is quicker, while Barley's flows with confidence like a waterfall. You aren't sure what compels you to do so, but you stand up while the vehicle is moving to reach out and touch Ian with your foot. You feel like he needs your comfort.

The movement in the vehicle begins to slow and finally stop. The continued voices and sounds, coupled by the fact that you're led out of the vehicle and made to stand beside Ian, sounds to you like they've run out of gas. Outside the vehicle, you feel Barley climb up on top of it. Once he gets back down, he says something to Ian and gives you an affectionate slap. You are so glad that he remembers to touch you even though you're just legs and a pile of clothes.

You start to feel some magical energy in the air, and you know what decision has been made regarding the gas problem. Ian holds the spell for quite a while, and when it's finally over…

Barley's now almost-imperceptible presence and changed voice makes you realize that the spell must have been redirected and inverted. You feel around and find that, sure enough, Barley is now the height of your foot! He plays the drums to assure you that he's ok, and although you tell yourself not to freak out you still stumble backwards. You're familiar with how spells work and how they can sometimes backfire, and reassure yourself it's probably temporary, but you still don't like the possibility of accidentally stepping on your son.

If the magical energy hasn't altered the object due to an incorrect stance or emotional imbalance, waving the staff around can potentially cause the target to be inversely altered. Inverse alteration was always a very fascinating aspect of magic for you, but it was hard to practice because in order to learn how to invert a spell you had to know what the proper emotions were for it to be cast correctly in the first place. The complexities involved was just one of the many reasons people neglected magic once technology with more "consistent" principles came along. The truth was that magic was very consistent, it's just that people didn't bother to study it when simpler processes could be used. But by doing that, knowledge of the old ways was lost, sometimes to the detriment of society. You remember your college dissertation and how that topic wasn't received well by your professors; it's a wonder you even graduated at all and got a job. Good thing the mathematical precision of magic was familiar to you when you switched to major in accounting. You wonder if your sons have thought about career choices yet.

In any case, all you can do is have confidence in them, and travel with them to wherever they're taking you next. Onward!

Ian leads you along the road with what seems to be a dragon leash, stopping so that Barley can catch up. At some point Barley's voice comes from Ian's chest, so you assume that Barley got moved to a front pocket in Ian's shirt. You often liked wearing shirts with front pockets—there was always something small you needed to carry around with you that might be forgotten about in a pants pocket.

The temperature around you changes and you're led into a room. After feeling a very deep voice, almost certainly that of a troll, you realize you're in a public place again. You try to see if you can get your bearings around this time, only to find yourself bumping into small bags and being pulled back by Ian as you start losing your balance. A small voice, too aggressive to be Barley's, is in front of you, but you're not sure what's going on. Has Ian's disguise been working this whole time? A shame you can't tell him how to use the disguise spell; it would be perfect since you can't even talk. That one was always great for pulling pranks, but most people in your old life couldn't take a joke. Even Laurel didn't get your jokes sometimes.

Speaking of your wife, where is she? Why is she not in this quest with your sons? You wish you could see her again.

You are led back outside and two small voices are going off at each other. You try not to pay any attention—conflict with anyone you didn't know personally always made you a bit nervous. Ian pulls you away, but you get a little dizzy and stumble some more, only to knock something—no, _several _somethings over. Judging by the high-pitched sound you feel and Ian turning to run, you just made a huge mistake.

For a while everything after that is a bit of a blur. Lots of jerking and rushing around, as well as your sons' frantic voices. The vehicle is definitely going way too fast, but it's hard to really be as afraid as you should be in this situation because you can't actually see or hear anything. You almost fly out of the window at one point, but you're pulled back to safety in the nick of time. Eventually, everything settles down, but you get the sense that Ian is not experienced with driving. Still, assuming that he had to perform under intense pressure, you're proud of him.

**. . . . . . . . .**

The car pulls to a stop. It can't be out of gas again, so what's the issue? You can sense Ian and Barley talking about something, their voices echoing on you with anxious vibrations. Also, to your relief, Barley has returned to normal size. You get the feeling something is wrong, and your sons could be in trouble. You suspect it's the police. After all, if Ian's been recklessly driving, there's a good chance a police officer noticed. You're not the type to be afraid of, or have any disrespect for law enforcement, but you know that time at a police station would slow down the quest and potentially be traumatic for your son. Perhaps there's something you can do to help. It's time to be a responsible parent!

You step out of the car, knowing that there's little you can do other than buy time. Depending on how far away the police are, an illusory spell could work. Taking care to balance the clothes on top of you all while you can't see or adjust them without your hands is extremely difficult, but as you step forward to face what you can presume is a police officer, you feel some magical energy in the air behind you. You don't even know what it is that you've done, but somehow it was enough. Is it wrong to be a little proud of yourself for once? Your sons can take it from here, so you relax.

You feel the beats of centaur's hoofs appear beside you, but beneath them, almost imperceptible, are elf footsteps—your sons. The voices of a cyclops and a satyr interrogate this illusory centaur for a while. You can only hope they say what needs to be said. Judging by how quickly you're pulled into the car minutes later, however, you get the feeling that some lies were told. That is a big no-no when using the disguise spell.

**. . . . . . . . .**

Tension is thick in the air. Since coming back to your new life—if having half of a body can really be called "living" you're able to sense vibrations very acutely, far more so than you can remember doing before you died. The ability to have advanced tactile perception in the absence of typical sensory organs due to an incomplete casting of a visitation spell sounds like a great topic you would have loved to write about in college. Of course, such an experiment could never be conducted for obvious ethical reasons. Perhaps some things are best left unknown to the world at large. Still, you wish you could let your boys know that you can sense something is wrong again. This quest must not be going according to plan. You think back to what's happened so far: escaping a burning tavern, running out of gas, a fierce car chase, and then a police interrogation. Ian, at the very least, must be extremely stressed out at this point.

The vehicle stops again, and your sons go outside. There's a sudden snap as the door of the car opens. Feeling the door's frame with your foot, you realize it's a van. Took you long enough! But something else gets your attention, something that made you smile in your old life. You step out of the van and decide now is the time to intervene again. Now is the time to show them that even if your time is limited, it's still a good idea to have a little fun. You ignore the fact that your disguise fell off and start to dance.

You remember your song from vibrations alone. Your feet tap on the concrete with the rhythms you remember. Barley seems to have inherited your music tastes. When you were hopelessly lovesick for your wife, you took a few dance classes in college. It was all worth it when she said yes. You were never very good at it, but you did your best and you had fun, and she liked it.

You hate that you've been stumbling so much, but you try not to think about it and let go of your inhibitions. Your sons need you. As you dance, you hear them talk to each other in hushed, surprised tones. You walk towards them to get you to join them, starting with Barley, who you presume to be more agreeable. Next you search out for Ian and nudge him with your hips to get him closer to his brother; you want both of your sons to dance with you. Not a typical father-son activity, for sure, but at least it's something you can do together. Ian says something to you, but you can eventually feel the faint vibrations of his arms swinging around as he awkwardly dances. Your sons laugh, and you don't care if it's at your dancing or with you because they think what you're doing is funny. You're just happy that they're happy.

You can feel Barley behind you, miming what he guesses is what you'd be doing if you had your upper body. He's probably wrong, but you know now that they're happy. The song ends, and you feel satisfied. You've dissolved the tension and made your sons happy. That's all you can really ask for. You have faith that this wasn't a pointless endeavor.

That night you and Ian rest while Barley keeps driving the van. You lie down with one of your shoes lightly touching his. You wish you had your upper body so that you could hug him good night, but you know he is too old for that. You think about how much of his life you have missed out on, and how much he may have missed out by not having you. But you quickly put the thoughts out of your mind. Soon, you'll be able to redeem yourself.

**. . . . . . . . . .**

The next morning you are jostled awake as the van crashes into something, terrifying you. You feel around and find Ian with your foot, much to your relief. You hop forward and also touch Barley with your other foot, grateful beyond belief that your sons haven't gotten in a wreck after all. Ian's foot touches yours, and you touch it back with your other foot. It's a small gesture to let him know you're there and that you love him. By this point, you have full confidence in him, even though you don't know how close they are to finding the Phoenix Gem.

Barley's voice resounds throughout the van, and you place your other foot on his shoulder with some strain. Feeling his shoulder makes you wonder what he looks like now that he's grown up. He's clearly stronger and more muscular than you were in your old life, but it's layered in with more body fat. Barley really must be like Laurel, then, even physically. How ironic that the son you were able to see before you died was more like Laurel, but the one you haven't been able to see is more like you. Perhaps all of that was for a reason.

The van abruptly stops, and you lunge forward, shaken but unharmed once again. You are led outside and start walking, but suddenly the ground stops before you. Before you can even feel the appropriate emotion a pair of strong hands pull you back to safety. That was Barley, no doubt about it, and you are very grateful and very embarrassed about the fact that you almost walked off a cliff. You go back to the van and relax, propping your feet up on the dashboard. There's nothing you can do in this situation, so the best thing to do is put on an air of confidence and trust in your sons. Your sons converse for a while, and at some point magic is cast. Your son's voice gets quieter as he walks along a path using the invisible bridge spell, a favorite of yours. It pushed your anxiety to the limits, but by the end of it that emotion had reached a new threshold. Like all spells, continuous use made things better, and eventually you were able to overcome your fear of heights. Your record for how far you could go in the air before dropping was a little less than ten minutes.

You try not to think about the fact that failure isn't an option for this spell, and you can sense Barley's voice growing anxious. It's understandable, but somehow you get the sense that you shouldn't be worried. The fact that you get led back into the van and the vehicle pulls forward several feet, presumably on the other side of the chasm, lets you know that you had nothing to fear.

It isn't long before the rumble of another car pulls up near you, and the voice of a centaur echoes over your body. Was this the person whom your boys impersonated? The vibrations of his voice have the same feel to them. You stand in front of them as a sort of greeting, hoping to somehow quell the situation through your inaction. You then realize your disguise isn't on top of you, but no one seems to react. Why is the office unfazed?

Ian and Barley are speaking to the centaur policeman. You simply stand your ground, and the centaur responds by stamping his hoof once, then twice, then…

Your sons go back into the van. You aren't sure what's going on at first, but then the van suddenly accelerates forward at a reckless speed. The bumps indicate you've gone off-road, and you realize who's driving the car. No doubt your sons' hearts are racing at the risk they're taking to see you, but since there's nothing you can do, you're once again left alone with your thoughts.

What reason did your sons have to impersonate this cop? Why would they know to try such a thing? They'd have to have been familiar with him. The idea that your sons have gotten a criminal record hurts you, but you can't think of any other way that they'd be familiar with an officer. Unless…

You remember Laurel talking to you about how she would organize her life after you were gone. You had tried not to think about it, but you knew your sons needed a father in their lives. The authority in the vibrations of that centaur's voice made you realize why Laurel wasn't on this journey with you. The realization hits you like a wave of sewage. It's not confirmed, and you doubt there is a way to confirm it, but you know Laurel talked about it with you enough before you were too sick to discuss it. She's found someone else. Maybe that explains why the officer didn't react with fright when he saw you without your fake upper half. He could have been the one whom your sons impersonated last night with the disguise spell. The pieces are all coming together. Laurel sent her new boyfriend—or is he her new husband?—after the three of you. You feel like this isn't like her. Why isn't she on the journey with you?

You knew to expect it, but you didn't think it would sadden you as much as it does. If only the two of you could have been together forever. If only you could have gotten to keep your family. You don't hold any ill will towards this other man. In fact, you'd like to give him some advice and encouragement about Laurel if you get to meet him. You want your wife to be happy, just like the rest of your family. You're just very disappointed that apparently not everyone was on board with this quest.

Ian attempts to cast a spell, but it fails. You aren't sure, but you think it's arcane lightning! Instead of witnessing the spell, however, you are taken out of the van. You feel the vibrations of the car speeding away behind you, and more rumbles that feel like an earthquake. You put two and two together and understand that you won't be seeing that van again. It pains you a little. You are certain that Barley loved it and was proud of it. No, the van was a she, you decide. Like a reliable ship or a fast unicorn mare from the days of yore.

**. . . . . . . . . . .**

The rest of the journey goes on foot, and Barley takes you on his shoulders. His frame just feels like a more muscular, masculine version of Laurel's. You wonder where she is. Is she on her own quest, pursuing you? Or is she staying at home, waiting for her boys to come back? You feel like the first idea is correct. It's what you'd expect her to do, after how you had pursued her. Most wizards weren't keen on having children in the old days, preferring to choose a pupil to pass their knowledge down to. You felt like the modern era called for an exception to the old tradition, so you found your warrior to "balance the party", as adventurers in the days of old said. Laurel wasn't keen on fighting unless she had to, but that was enough. Any woman that considered you strong in any way was someone you knew you'd fall head over heels for. Physically, she was always stronger than you, but she looked to you for inspiration and bravery. In fact, standing up to bullies was how you met. You remember the day you called that girl gossiping about her some horrible names in public, and how grateful she was. Then she gave you her number, and it wasn't long before you two went on your first date. It wasn't long before you both realized you loved each other. You verbally fought back against her bullies while she physically fought back against yours, even when you didn't need her to. It was a little strange at first, but you realized her strength did not diminish your own masculinity in the least, and the moment you accepted that was the moment you realized you two belonged to each other.

It hurts you to know now that it wasn't meant to last.

The ground beneath you gets rocky, and later you're escorted onto a powdery, oblong object that feels like it's floating in water. Perhaps an enlarged snack? In any case, you feel Ian casting spells and Barley reaching down to take bites of the makeshift raft. It speeds up and slows down with the acceleration spell. If Ian can get this spell down, you realize, he may never need to get gas in his car ever again! The thought of your son using magic to cheat the modern, technological system makes you giddy.

Suddenly your boys speak in lower, somber voices. You also become somber as a result. They must be talking about you. You absentmindedly rub your shoes together. You remember the last time you saw Barley while you were alive. He was too scared to see you then, to say goodbye. From the limited ways in which you've been acquainted with Barley since becoming just a pair of legs, he seems to have become a different person now. You hope he knows that you're proud of him, too. Both of your sons are so brave.

**. . . . . . . . .**

After the boat ride, it isn't long before you find yourself being dragged further along by your sons. Something whooshes above you and you can't feel your makeshift top half standing up anymore. Hopefully that won't be a problem. And judging from the hiss of dissolution just behind you, it wouldn't have helped disguise you from the gelatinous cube. This is a dungeon, all right! Your boys move you forward, and hissing sounds resound from both sides of you. You stop once again, and find yourself pulled forward by Ian over a cliff. In the split-second that you can, you jump, landing on a body that you can only assume to be your sons. Ian pulls him towards you both with magic, and soon you are pulled again by the leash attached to your belt.

Once the danger seems to pass and your sons are near you decide to wonder around to get your bearings. Judging by the echo of your sons' voices, it's a small, stony room. Something shifts under you, and your heart sinks when you feel water beginning to fill the room. It engulfs you soon enough, but you find that since you don't have lungs you can't drown. Your sons can, though, and you wish you could tell them there's a water-breathing spell. But it may be too late for that.

You are thrust downward into the water and sink to the bottom. You know that you have a task to do, but you don't know how to do it. You are moved around like a marionette on a string. You carefully move your feet around, searching for whatever it is you need to help your sons. You are finally jerked upwards so that your legs straighten, and you let your feet touch a pressure plate beneath you. You weren't sure if you wanted to press that plate or not.

Afterwards, you are pulled upward and out of the chamber. You shake off the water from your legs and are very happy for your sons as Barley places you on his shoulders again and carries you up a ladder. The phoenix gem is almost in your sons' grasp!

But then you remember how this quest ends, and the price for finding a Phoenix Gem. You shudder.

**. . . . . . . . . . .**

Barley sounds desperate and Ian sounds frustrated, and you know exactly what's wrong. There was no way you could have told them that the old fountain right in New Mushroomton had a Phoenix Gem; in fact, you didn't even remember yourself up until this point. They probably think this quest has been pointless because from their point of view, they've gone in a giant circle for nothing. And what's worse, even if they realize the phoenix gem is near, they may not know about the curse. You _really _hope the manticore told them about the curse, but judging by the fact that you don't feel the earth shaking yet or the roars of any curse guardians, you get the sense that they don't know yet.

You're led to a cliff and made to sit down. You can't sense Barley, but Ian is still gripping your leash. He thinks he's failed, and you can't tell him how close he is to succeeding. There's nothing you can do about it.

In the past, this sort of thing would have driven you to despair, too. But not anymore. You're tired of feeling sorry for yourself. You're tired of thinking that you were a terrible father all because you died before you could be there for your sons. You think to your past, thinking about anything you did right. And then you remember the message you wrote to your sons, hoping that they'd summon you back for just a little while. It messed up, but something else had happened that you didn't expect: they didn't give up. You wouldn't have done at their age. Even before Ian had mastered any spells or even touched you, he had wanted to bring you back, so he made the attempt. And when he had failed, he and Barley had set them out on a journey. From what you knew of Ian, that part wasn't his idea. It must have been Barley's. You think back to the few times Barley was with you, before your health got bad. He always stared with awe at anything magical you had, even though you had to hide it from his mother. You explained to him what things were, knowing that he was so little he may not even have been able to understand anything you were saying yet. You gave him an interest in magic. He may not be able to cast it, but from the way he spoke to your younger son when he tried to lift the can, something was at work in Ian. If Ian was as scared as you had first assessed him to be, as you had been at his age, then Barley had been the one to motivate him. Maybe Ian had changed Barley in some ways, too. At this point, you wanted to speak to Ian, just to ask him what he was thinking right now. What did he think of his brother? If you could ask Ian one question, it would be to ask him how much Barley has done for him. You think you know the answer.

You wish you could ask him, but then you're made to stand up and head back to where you were before.

The earth rumbles, and you hear an intense vibration that certainly isn't a voice. You know exactly what's just happened, and you're full of worry for your sons. But beneath the fear, there's a spirit of determination and bravery.

You don't get much of a sense for what is going on, but a great battle is taking place, one in which you have no part except to stand, follow the leash that guides you, and keep yourself safe. A greatsword is swung, something crashes to the ground, magic is cast—even arcane lightning!—fire is unleashed, objects whoosh by, and finally, at the end of it all, you stand on the edge of the cliff and feel it.

You stomach starts to feel the breeze of the ocean through your shirt. Your chest forms into existence. Your shoulders and neck appear. There's a jolt to your body. You remember what happens when staffs end up redirecting spells, but that's not what's happening here. Instead, one final push is being given, one last _oomph _that forms your face into existence.

Footsteps resound just past you, very faint amidst the tingling of the magic forming the upper half of your body at last. Somewhere during the process, an explosion occurs, and a dragon is slain but it all happens before you can see it. You are so proud of your family.

**. . . . . . . . . . **

You finally get to see Barley's face. He's grown up so much. There's stubble on his chin as he's no doubt trying to grow a beard. He's wearing this bizarre jean-jacket like vest with tons of patches. There's a cast on one of his arms. His fashion is bold, just like yours was, but even less subtle. He looks a lot like Laurel, but the shape of his face and body is decidedly much more masculine. Because of who he is and what he has done to bring you here, you think he's beautiful. Your whole family is beautiful.

Where are Ian and Laurel? You wish your whole family could be here, but they're not. Where are they? Judging by the setting sun, there isn't much time left. It's heartbreaking, but you know that if they don't show up right now you won't get to see them. They're just a little too far away. And when you vanish, you can't be brought back again. But you know that they love you and worked hard for you to come back. They—especially Ian, with all of his frequent magic castings—sacrificed a chance to meet you so that Barley could see you again. You almost tear up, but you stay strong for your older son. You need to make your last moments with him count.

You want to say a million things to Barley, to apologize for having died so soon, but instead you listen and let him tell you what he wants to tell you. The conversation is brief, but the closure happens. Barley asks you a few questions—some silly, like what your wizard name would have been, and some very important. The two of you even share a laugh together. You already know what you're going to say to the serious ones. You wish you could say a whole lot more, but there's only a few precious moments left. Barley explains that Laurel has found another man, and you tell him you wish him a happy and fruitful relationship. Finally, Barley asks you if you have a message for Ian. You're happy for her now, even though you get the sense that this other man, this centaur, was not a father figure to your boys. But it doesn't matter. Although you could do very little, it seems that what you could do in the short time you had was enough.

"Tell Iandore that I'm proud of him, and that I'm glad to see who he grew up to be," you say. "And give him this." You hug Barley, making him promise to pass the hug down to Ian on your behalf, just as he passed down his love of magic to the son that could cast it, all without jealousy or bitterness. Magic is your legacy, passed from a father to his sons. And one of your sons has filled the void in your other son's heart that you would have occupied. Knowing this, you are filled with peace.

You also know that you'll vanish very soon. You tell Barley the last thing you want to say to him before you go: You thank him for doing what you were not able to do—raise Ian into the man and the wizard that he was meant to become. You make sure Barley knows how important his role has been in Ian's journey, far more important than yours.

It hurts that it couldn't have been you. But it's outweighed by the joy and relief and pride in your heart's fire from knowing that Barley has been there for Ian. And not just for this journey, either, you think, but for all of his life, the life of your second son that you never got to see. And although you didn't get to see most of the journey, you know that your sons have grown up and are men now.

You hug Barley and say goodbye, feeling yourself vanish. You couldn't be any happier, even though things didn't turn out perfect.

There was a lot of magic left in the world all along, even more so than you could imagine.

**AN: I normally try to avoid one-shot fanfics as I keep telling myself I'm going to quit writing them at some point. But after seeing Onward, I felt that I needed to contribute something. Apparently no one else has, which is understandable since I literally saw this movie the day it came out. And yes, I cried. The story is extremely personal to me and I could resonate with Ian's character. I fear this movie may get overlooked due to the coronavirus outbreak, as well as this idea that it's "not a typical Pixar movie", whatever that's supposed to mean. But it's been a while since a work of fiction has impacted me so greatly, and this is only the third time that a work of fiction has made me cry.**


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